The Mechanic and the Lawyer's Son
by harrimaniac27
Summary: Short AUfic: Ken Hutchinson works a 9-5 Job at his father's law firm and drives a beat-up brown car. He starts having some trouble with it, so he takes it to Starsky's Mechanic Shop to get it fixed. He doesn't like dealing with the rude mechanic, but his car trouble (and maybe something more) keeps bringing him back. (Warning: slashy undertones ahead) R&Rs are greatly appreciated!


Kenneth Hutchinson (Ken or Kenny to his friends and family), sighed as he walked out of the Hutchinson and Sanders Law Firm. Another boring Monday at the office, sitting under his father's frowning figure in a painting was not his idea of a good career, but it paid the bills and made his parents happy. He slumped into his car; the soft upholstered seats a welcome change to the hard, swivelling slab of wood his father's designers called an office chair.

His car was what most people would call a piece of junk, but to him, it had a class all its own. Sure, the backseat door on the driver's side didn't open. Sure, the back passenger's side window didn't roll down. Sure, there was a mismatched patch of paint on the front passenger's side. Sure, the horn blared every time he opened the driver's door. But he loved this car. Why? Well, if you were to ask him in the presence of his father, he'd say, "it is the flaws in things that make them beautiful". Which was mostly true. But if you were to ask him about it when his father wasn't around, he would add, "And it makes my father crazy that his only son would dare drive something like this." Hey, if he couldn't rebel against the Hutchinson family business, he reserved the right to rebel against the Hutchinson family image.

He smiled at the thought, lazily pulling his arm up to start the engine. It started fine and he started to pull out of his spot, but suddenly, a loud, incessant clanking noise startled Ken bolt upright in his seat.

"Ohh, come on baby, don't do this to me…" He said, slowly rubbing the steering wheel as if it would somehow soothe his car. But the clanking continued. Ken stopped and dropped his head onto the steering wheel, knowing he was going to have to take it in to a mechanic shop. He sighed. He didn't know any mechanics. A friend of his father's (who had so many cars, he needed four garages) had suggested a shop called Starsky's, saying it was the best shop this side of the bay.

Ken frowned. He did _not_ want to deal with this right now. He wanted to drive home and drink a cold beer. Watch the late show. But he had to be at work early the next morning, and if he drove home and then couldn't start his car in the morning, he'd have to ride with his father. He shuddered at the thought. The mechanic's shop was definitely starting to sound better. And maybe he could leave it in the shop and go get a beer while the mechanic worked on his car! Now that was a plan he could get behind.

-%-

Ken was wary as he pulled up to the shop. There were dozens of cars in the parking lot, each of them with dazzling paint jobs…cars that, if he owned one, would make his father beam. He wrinkled his nose as he pulled into a space and shut off his engine next to a robin's-egg blue '57 Shelby Cobra, which he recognised as belonging to his father's friend (Boy, he hoped he wouldn't run into him here). He was so caught up in his thoughts as he watched the mechanics polish the Shelby, he didn't notice a man in a dirty blue denim shirt walking up to him, wiping his hands on a red mechanic's rag with an eyebrow raised.

"Evenin'. Car trouble? I heard you driving up from a mile away."

Startled, Ken whipped his head around to look at the man. He had a dirty mess of dark curly hair and was chewing on a toothpick. Ken straightened himself up and opened his door, standing up and addressing the shorter man. The mechanic was surprised by the sound of the horn when the door was opened, so Ken stepped aside and shut it.

"Uh, yes. It started fine, but when I turned to get out of the parking lot, it started makin

g a clanking noise…"

The mechanic made a face at the car and walked right past him toward the other side. He leaned over, examining the vehicle up-close like he was a jeweller or something. Ken stopped talking, a little irked that the mechanic wasn't listening to him. Suddenly, the mechanic stood up and nodded at Ken.

"What's a pretty blonde like you doin' drivin' an old tub like this?"

Ken glared. He decided he did not like this mechanic.

"First of all, it's not a 'tub', and second of all, I don't remember asking you for your opinion on my car!"

The mechanic smirked. "Oh, but you did. You brought your car here, didn't you?" he said, taking the toothpick out of his mouth and gesturing at Ken with it. "Can't fix a car unless I got opinions, and the important ones are gonna cost you. Mister…"

Ken narrowed his eyes. "Hutchinson. Kenneth Hutchinson."

The mechanic raised a brow. "_Oh_, Mr. Hutchinson, son of the lawyer." He curtsied jokingly. "David Starsky, at your service."

Ken rolled his eyes. Oh, boy…just another place where his reputation preceded him. And _this_ little pipsqueak was Starsky? Honestly, he'd thought he'd be taller.

"What can I do ya for, Hutch?" said Starsky, smiling and putting the toothpick back into his mouth.

Ken glared some more. "Please don't call me that. I didn't come here for you to patronise me, I came here for you to fix my car."

Starsky chuckled. "Calm down, blondie, I'm only kidding you!"

Ken got in Starsky's face. "Well, sorry if I'm not in the mood for your jokes! Now, will you please fix my car!?"

Starsky seemed taken aback and pointed a finger into Ken's chest.

"Sorry, blondie, but I don't like your tone or your ugly car! Now if you're gonna keep shouting at me like that, you can take your attitude and that piece of junk off my lot and forget about me fixing anything!"

Ken was seething, but he really needed his car. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry. It's…been a long day, and I guess I'm just...a little grumpy from work."

Starsky scoffed. "A _little_ grumpy?" He rasied a brow at the blonde as he walked past him.

"Now. You said you started your car, went to turn out of the lot, and she started making a clanking noise, am I right?"

Ken was surprised. The guy had been listening to him after all. He nodded and they both walked over to the car.

"Would you pop the hood?" Starsky said.

Ken did as he was told.

Starsky ducked his head under the hood and started looking around. Ken craned his neck trying to see what Starsky was doing under there, but all he could see as he leaned out of the window was the mechanic's back end. He uncomfortably leaned back into his seat and listened to Starsky mutter as he dug around the engine block, checking fluids, rattling things...after a while, he got out of the car and walked around to the front, watching Starsky as he bent over the engine block. Starsky's behaviour and his rat's nest of hair reminded Ken of stories he'd once read about mad scientists. He swallowed back a laugh.

Finally, Starsky stood up again, clicking his tongue and wiping his hands on that red rag. "Well, I'm sorry to say this, Hutch, but this car is a mess. You have a power steering fluid leak, you need a new fan belt, you need an oil change, and that's only the stuff I've noticed so far. I still have to raise 'er up and take a look at your differential to see if it's the cause of the clanking noise."

Ken shook his head and handed Starsky the car keys. "Ok, but…I just want the clanking fixed. It was driving fine before that started, and I have to be at work early tomorrow."

Starsky raised a brow. "You know, Hutch, if we don't fix the rest of this stuff, you'll have to come right back when something else breaks. And with a tub like this, it won't be long."

Ken felt himself getting angry again, but he forced his voice to be calm. "Please, just fix the clanking noise. I'll deal with the rest of it later."

Starsky shrugged a shoulder and saluted. "Okay, Hutch. Just the clanking noise. You'll have to give me about five hours, though."

Ken's shoulders sagged. "That'll be after 10 pm."

Starsky nodded. "That's right. Lucky you. I usually close at nine." He walked past Ken, winking a blue eye at him as he went.

Ken felt uncomfortable again, though he wasn't sure why.

Ken watched as Starsky opened the door, grimaced at the horn sound, got in, quickly shut the door, started the car, struggled to turn the car around, and finally drove it into his garage. He walked into the garage just in time to catch Starsky muttering "You call that a turning radius? Sheesh."

Ken cleared his throat. "Uh, is there a…bar or…something like that around here where I could get some food?"

Starsky was attaching chains to the car and didn't look up. "Yeah…there's a bar down the street called Huggy's, as a matter of fact…" He stopped to sniff and wipe his nose on the back of his hand. "They've got good beer and great hamburgers; if that's the kind of stuff you're into."

Ken furrowed his brows. "And just what kind of stuff do you think I'm into?"

Starsky stopped to look up at Ken. "Don't worry. With a tub like this, you sure don't strike me as the frou-frou type."

Ken rolled his eyes. "Just tell me what direction it's in."

Starsky chuckled. "North down 28th. It's got a big orange sign. You can't miss it."

Ken frowned and started to walk away.

"Hey, Hutch, if you get a chance, bring me back some of the meatloaf. It's the best."

Ken looked back to see a big lopsided smirk on the mechanic's face. He turned around and kept walking.

"What does he think I am?! Some kind of…" He sighed. Getting all worked up over a mechanic he'd never see again after that day was just not worth his time. He took a deep breath and walked off down 28th, soon seeing the big orange sign Starsky had told him about.

-%-

Ken walked into the bar and sat down at one of the round tables. Soon, a pretty waitress walked up to his table.

"What can I get for ya, sugar?"

Ken smiled a dopey smile. "Uhh…I'll take a hamburger and the lightest beer you have."

She smiled back and wrote something down on her book. "Lettuce, tomato, mayo and mustard alright?"

Ken nodded, the dumb smile still on his face.

"Fries or onion rings?" She asked.

"Surprise me," Ken blurted.

She laughed and closed her book. "Okay, sugar. That'll be right out."

He appreciatively watched her backside as she walked over to the bar and said something to the bartender, a lanky black man in a tam. The bartender nodded and walked over to the taps, pouring a light beer. He walked out to Ken's table and set the beer down.

"Welcome to Huggy's. I ain't never seen you around here before, what's your name?"

"Uh, Ken. Nice to meet you, Mr…"

The lanky man smiled and shook Ken's hand. "Huggy Bear himself, maître d' of this establishment; It's a pleasure, Ken."

Ken smiled at him. It was nice to meet someone for once who didn't associate him with his father. He made a mental note not to mention his last name to anyone else that night.

"So, what's a fancy dude like you doing on this side of town at this time of day?" Huggy said, gesturing to Ken's suit. Ken looked down; he'd almost forgotten that he was wearing it.

"Oh…I'm getting my car fixed. I walked down here from Sta—"

"Starsky's!" Huggy finished the sentence for him with a big smile on his face. "Eyy, how's that cat doing? He must be busy, I ain't seen him in here in a long time!"

Ken blinked. How could anybody like that joker so much?

"Uhh he's…just as…crass as ever."

Huggy laughed aloud. "Ah, that's real special! You tell him Huggy said hello when you go pick up your ride, huh? Ey, enjoy your food."

Huggy patted Ken on the shoulder as he walked off to meet another customer.

Ken rested his elbow on the table and dropped his chin into his hand. It seemed like that rude mechanic was well-liked. Ken smirked. Maybe it was because he was the only one who liked this place's meatloaf.

-%-

One delicious hamburger, sixteen onion rings, two beers, one piece of apple pie a la mode, three and a half glasses of water, and a solo game of darts later, Ken looked up at the clock. 9:16. He sighed, contemplating whether or not to get another beer. He decided against it; it was too close to the time that Starsky had promised he'd be done with his car, and he had to drive home. He sat back down at his table, frowning when he saw that cute waitress talking and laughing with a rather large, muscular man at the bar who seemed very interested in her. It seemed that was always going to be his luck with pretty chicks. They were always spoken for.

He scratched an itch he had on his chest and his thoughts returned to the rude mechanic named Starsky. Just what kind of a name was "Starsky" anyway? Was he Polish or Danish or something? And where did he get that attitude? What made him think it was ok to talk to potential customers like that? If Ken were to disrespect potential clients like that, he'd get heavily reprimanded. Ken shook his head. It didn't matter. In a little less than an hour, this would all be over and he could go home, go to bed, and forget all about that rude, fuzzy-haired mechanic.

The phone rang and Huggy answered it, a big smile spreading across his face after a second. Ken didn't pay much attention, he just decided Huggy must be talking to an old friend. He busied himself with drawing smiley faces in the condensation on his glass of water, an absent-minded grin on his face. He didn't notice Huggy hang up the phone, walk into the back, and walk back out with something wrapped in tin foil. He was almost startled when Huggy walked up to his table.

"Hey, Ken, that was Starsky. He says he's done with your car."

Ken blinked and looked at the clock. 9:24. "Really?"

Huggy chuckled and put the thing wrapped in tin foil on the table.

"Yeah, he's a real miracle worker, that Starsky. Fixed my motorcycle in two hours once…"

But Ken wasn't paying attention. "What is _that_?" he said, pointing at the tin foil.

"Meatloaf," said Huggy. "You wouldn't mind taking that back to him, would you?"

Ken frowned, but...he was going back that way anyway…

"Sure, why not?"

Huggy smiled. "Ey, great. Thanks. Be safe, brother," and with that, Huggy walked back behind the bar.

Ken picked up the meatloaf, frowning at it. He was a little irked that he hadn't even protested about taking it to Starsky. He shrugged. Starsky _had_ finished his car early. Maybe he deserved a little extra.

-%-

Ken walked back south on 28th toward Starsky's shop, noticing as he got there that all of the cars with the shiny paint jobs were gone, except for a red Torino with a white stripe parked in the corner. He frowned at it. The colour made it look like a tomato. A tomato with a white stripe. What a weird way to paint a car.

Suddenly, the garage door opened, and out drove his beautiful brown car…except it didn't whine when it turned anymore and the clanking noise was gone. Ken approached the car as Starsky shut it off and stepped out, wincing at the horn noise and shutting the door as soon as humanly possible. He smiled when he looked up at Ken and saw the foil in his hand.

"Is that my meatloaf?"

Ken held it out to him. "Yeah, yeah, here's your meatloaf."

"Thank you, Hut—sorry. _Kenneth_." Starsky said, shaking his head as he dug in.

Ken frowned and looked down.

Starsky furrowed his brows and swallowed the bite he had taken. "What? You don't like that, either? What am I supposed to call you?"

Ken opened his mouth, but he couldn't think of anything to say.

"Just…just not Kenneth. My father calls me Kenneth, and I never liked it."

Starsky nodded and shrugged. "Ok. Hutch it is."

Ken rolled his eyes, but this Starsky guy did seem a little nicer now that he had some food.

"Alright, how much is this opinion of yours gonna cost me?" Ken said, taking out a checkbook.

Starsky took another bite of his meatloaf.

"Well," he said with his mouth full, taking a piece of yellow paper out of his pocket and unfolding it. "Looks like you're set back…236.66." He paused to swallow. "That's for the work on the differential and replacing your right front wheel, cos it was bent pretty bad."

Ken glared. "I thought I told you just to fix the clanking noise."

Starsky didn't even look up at him, he just kept eating his meatloaf.

"Since you brought me this meatloaf, I'm not even gonna charge you for changing the oil. You know, it's really unsafe driving above 45 miles an hour with a wheel bent like yours was. I mean, I'm sure you felt it start to shimmy as you got up to about 45-55 miles an hour, right?"

Ken was speechless for a second. Maybe this Starsky guy was actually nice under his ornery exterior.

"Right...w—You-you're not gonna charge me for changing my oil?"

Starsky snapped his fingers. "Oh, that's right, and I filled your power steering fluid tank. You're gonna need to keep an eye on it, though, a leak like that drains fluid fast."

Ken blinked at him, then shook his head and filled out the check.

"Hate to say this, Hutch, but you're gonna be back, and soon, too. You're lucky this piece of junk lasted this long—no offense intended, just...a statement of fact."

Ken glared at Starsky as he handed him the check. Then again, maybe he was just rude.

"We'll see about that…" Ken said, then he got into his car and drove home. Four days later, however, he regretted his skepticism.

-%-

"Hey," Ken said as he walked up to Starsky in the garage. "I'm, uh…back."

"Would it hurt to say I told you so?" Starsky asked, not even looking up from his work.

Ken rolled his eyes. "Ah, stuff it…" he muttered, but Starsky heard him and laughed.

"A little frustrated, are we?"

Ken just glared at him.

"Alright, what's wrong with her this time?" Starsky asked. "Wait, let me guess…" Starsky rubbed his chin with a dirty hand, leaving a black smudge on the right side of his face. He snapped and pointed at Ken.

"It's making a shrieking noise when you hit the gas, it's smoking, and it smells like burnt rubber."

Ken blinked.

"H—how did you know that?"

Starsky just laughed and stuck out his hand for the car keys. "How did I know that?! Hasn't anyone ever told you I'm the best in my field?"

Ken furrowed his brows and handed over the car keys. Starsky grinned at him.

"You can head over to Huggy's for about four hours this time. I should be done with her by then." He started to walk over to the car, but then stopped. "Oh, and if you bring me some apple pie, I won't charge you for the power steering fluid." He winked and walked over to Ken's car, entering it from the passenger's side door and scooting over into the driver's seat.

Ken frowned and watched the mechanic drive his car into the garage, much in the same manner he had the previous time he'd been there. He shook his head and walked north toward Huggy's. Something about the way Starsky winked at him made him wonder about the guy. He was sure he was just imagining things, but…the way Starsky looked at him, it was almost like he was…hungry? Ken wasn't even sure if that was the right word, but it was the only one he could come up with that remotely fit. It bothered him, sure, but he was positive it was just his imagination, so he stopped thinking about it.

-%-

When he got to Huggy's, he was surprised when the pretty waitress recognised him…and even more surprised when she addressed him as "Hutch". So Starsky had been there…and he'd talked about him. The waitress didn't seem any less nice than she had been the other night, so maybe he hadn't said anything bad? He shook his head and put it out of his mind. This was the last time he'd need Starsky's services, right? So why should he worry about it? Still…He couldn't stop himself from being a little curious as to what Starsky had to say about him.

He had only been at Huggy's for two hours when Huggy showed up at his table, this time with a cardboard takeout box.

"Starsky's pie," Huggy said. "He said he asked you to bring it to him."

Ken was about to say something about not being a delivery boy, but he bit back the comment when he remembered that Starsky had agreed not to charge him for power steering fluid if he brought it to him.

"Yep," he said through his teeth. "He did, that."

Huggy smiled and patted him on the shoulder.

"You're a saint. Take care, ok?"

Ken nodded back at Huggy as he left to go visit his other customers.

-%-

Ken walked south, back to Starsky's shop, with the cardboard takeout box in his hands. There were still other shiny cars in the parking lot, but none of them were the same as last time…except that red tomat—_Torino_—was still in the corner parking spot. He wondered what was wrong with it, if it was still there after four days. He was still looking at it when Starsky walked up to him.

"That my pie?" he said, nodding to the box.

Ken handed it over. "Yep, Huggy warmed it up for you, too."

Starsky smiled and opened the box, taking a second to smell the pie.

"Mmmm smell that? That's a welcome change from breathin' in motor oil and rubber all day, I can tell you that…"

"How much, Starsky?"

Starsky stopped smelling his pie and looked at Ken for a second with a new, unreadable look on his face that made Ken just as uncomfortable as the winks. Starsky smiled and closed his takeout box, taking a piece of that yellow paper out of his pocket and unfolding it.

"That's...124.82 for replacing the fan belt and cleaning up a bit, and one slice of pie," He held it up, "for filling your power steering tank."

Ken filled out the check and handed it to Starsky, sticking a hand out for his keys.

Starsky looked at Ken's hand before placing the keys in his palm.

"You know, Hutch…You really ought to let me replace the power steering system. It's in pretty bad shape."

Ken shook his head. "You just want me to spend more money."

"You could've spent less if you'd done it all at once," Starsky countered.

Ken frowned. "But then it would've taken you longer."

Starsky shrugged. "Woulda stayed up all night if that's what it took."

He looked at Ken, smiling softly, and Ken almost forgot he was that rude, crazy mechanic/thorn in his side. Ken started to feel uncomfortable again as those blue eyes held his gaze and he quickly looked down. Starsky leaned against Ken's car.

"Well, unless you like the idea of coming here every week, I at least suggest you buy some power steering fluid so you can fill it every few days until you get the system replaced."

Ken was still trying to shake off Starksy's gaze. "Maybe later," he said, opening his car door and smiling when he heard the horn.

Starsky was grimacing. "You _like_ that?" He shouted over the horn.

"What? I can't hear you," Ken said, smiling at him and getting in the car.

Starsky looked perplexed for a second...and then he started laughing.

Ken closed the door and rolled down his window. "What's so funny?"

"I get it," Starsky said. "You like it because when you open your door and get into your car, you don't have to listen to your father, right?"

Ken was surprised at the mechanic's insight.

"What are you, a shrink now, too?"

Starsky smirked. "Sure. And I'm working on becoming a doctor, a lawyer, and a plumber."

Ken couldn't help but laugh.

"What, no mad scientist?"

Starsky put a hand to his chin. "I hadn't thought of that. I'll have to add it to my to do list."

Ken smiled back. Maybe this Starsky guy wasn't so bad after all. Ken planned on going in next week for the power steering fluid as he drove away, leaving Starsky in the parking lot with his pie.

-%-

Breakfast with his parents was never one of Ken's favourite things to do, but it was a long-standing Saturday tradition that couldn't be avoided unless somebody was practically dying. At least the food was good; he'd never had anything against his parent's cooks. They always made good, creamy oatmeal and nice, crispy bacon.

Ken was halfway done with his oatmeal when he heard his father clear his throat; the way he always did before he was about to ask a question. His father dabbed his mouth with a cloth napkin before setting it back into his lap.

"You've been spending much too much money on that horrible car of yours, Kenneth. Why?"

Ken sighed. He hated it when his father just went rummaging around in his personal finances without so much as a warning or a 'please'.

"Dad, I'm slowly getting her fixed, ok? There's just one more problem I need to get taken care of and then she's—"

"Kenny, why haven't you liked any of the cars we've offered you?" His mother interrupted, looking honestly perplexed as to why he didn't take a shine to any of the little sports cars they'd tried to buy for him two weeks prior.

"Because, mother, I like this one. I bought her with my own money. I earned her, and that means a lot to me," Ken said, setting down his spoon.

"Kenneth, that car you drive is just atrocious. Why don't you at least get it painted a decent colour?"

Hutch shook his head. "I don't want to argue with you about this, dad. I'm 23 years old. I can make my own decisions now."

"Kenneth, you may be an adult, but you work for our firm, and we have a certain image we like to uphold. We serve a lot of high-end clients, and when that…_car_ of yours is in the parking lot…"

Ken found himself trying to drown out what his father had to say by thinking of something else—anything else—and that something else just happened to be his mechanic's blue eyes.

Those looks he thought Starsky was giving him…were they in his imagination, or was Starsky really giving him looks? Looks that made him nervous and gave him butterflies. Was he doing that on purpose? Could he tell that he was making Ken nervous? He suddenly couldn't wait to go get the power steering fluid.

"Kenneth? Kenneth, are you listening to me?"

Ken shook his head. "I'm sorry, dad, I just…can't think about this right now."

He grabbed his keys and walked out to his car, revelling in the sound of the horn when he opened the door. He got in and headed towards Starsky's shop.

-%-

"You know, you've been coming here a lot lately," Starsky said from under a vehicle.

Ken furrowed his brows. "How did you know it was me?"

"Nobody else around here wears fancy leather shoes like that."

Ken frowned at Starsky's legs.

"So I've been coming around a lot. So what?"

Starsky rolled himself out from under the vehicle.

"You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were starting to like me or something," he said with a smirk.

Ken felt himself flushing a bit.

"I'm here for that power steering fluid," he said flatly.

Starsky smiled, got up, and brushed himself off.

"Why don't you let me fix the system so you don't have to deal with me anymore?"

Ken narrowed his eyes. "How much is that gonna cost me?"

Starsky smiled, his eyes never leaving Ken's. "My estimate? 100 bucks and a beer or two."

Ken looked back at Starsky. "A beer or two?" he repeated.

Starsky nodded. "That is, if you can stand bein' seen at Huggy's with a grimy guy like me."

He held a hand out for the car keys. "I'll meet you there in three hours after I'm done with your car."

Ken blinked and, without thinking, gave Starsky his car keys.

-%-

He wondered why he hadn't given Starsky's offer any thought as he headed off to Huggy's. He finally decided that, for his own safety, he needed to get the power steering fixed, and why not do it now? But even that felt like an afterthought; like he was making excuses for something. Ken shrugged off the feeling as he walked past Huggy's big orange sign. He supposed, with Starsky's track record, that he could trust him to be done soon and then he wouldn't have to worry about coming back anymore. The thought almost made him stop walking. He hated to say it, but the fuzzy-haired mechanic had really started to grow on him.

He had spent the whole day on Friday thinking about going to get the power steering fluid, like it was the most important thing on his plate at the moment. He'd tried to tell himself that it wasn't that important, that he should focus on his work, but the thought kept popping up in the back of his mind like a target from one of those shoot-'em-up carnival games. And here he was on Saturday, sitting at a table at Huggy's bar, sipping a beer, while Starsky replaced his whole power steering system. What was so special about this place that he wanted to keep coming back? He thought about it as he ordered a Hamburger, with fries this time.

He looked around the bar. This was the first time he'd been there in jeans and a t-shirt, and it felt great. He didn't feel like he had to pose a certain way to get people to like him. He wasn't "the laywer's son" or "the rich kid" here; nobody cared what he was or did. For the first time in a long time, he felt…normal.

After a while, Huggy walked up and gave him a little punch on the arm.

"Ey, Hutch, you're really gettin' to be a regular around here. What happened to your fancy threads?"

Ken smiled. Maybe it was ok that they all called him "Hutch".

"It's Saturday. I'm off work."

Huggy nodded. "Ah, I see. So that monkey suit is your uniform."

Ken nodded back and took another sip of his beer.

"Ey, where do you work, anyway? At a bank, or something?"

Ken shook his head and frowned. "Hutchinson and Sanders Law Firm."

Huggy chuckled. "Ohh, so _that's_ why Starsky calls you Hutch."

Ken nodded and frowned some more.

Huggy patted Ken on the arm. "Hey, don't worry about it. What you do don't define you."

Then, somebody called Huggy back behind the bar and he left. Ken smiled. Huggy was right…he wasn't defined by the job his parents wanted him to do…not any more than he was defined by the Hutchinson family image. Maybe his parent's social circle thought it defined him, but…he wanted to figure out his own definition.

-%-

Ken wasn't even done with his second beer when Starsky walked into the bar. He looked like he'd at least cleaned his face and hands up a bit before walking down there, though there was still a line of black under his fingernails. He spotted Ken and walked over to him, putting his car keys on the table and taking a seat.

"All fixed up. You still have a backlog of problems with that poor tub of yours, though. Your shocks are in bad shape, one of the control arms is starting to rust, and that's not to mention the brakes—"

"You just want me to keep coming back to see you," Ken said, surprised at his sudden lack of inhibition.

Starsky smiled. "Or maybe your car wants you to keep coming back to see me."

Ken smiled and stared into his beer, just so that he'd have something to look at other than Starsky's face.

Soon, the pretty waitress lady came over and asked Starsky what she could get for him.

"A few hours might be nice, but I'll settle for a hamburger with fries and an IPA."

She smiled, shook her head at him, and hit him on the head with her book. "Oh Davey, you watch your mouth! I'll be right back, ok?"

He smiled at her and watched her walk away. Ken raised a brow and took another sip of his beer. This mechanic really was rude...

"I've known her for years," Starsky said, shaking his head, as if he'd heard Ken mentally calling him rude. "It's just a joke anymore. I know she ain't interested."

Ken nodded, one eyebrow still raised. "You seem to really like to joke with people."

Starsky smirked. "You don't seem to like jokes at all, blondie."

Ken frowned at him. "Not really, especially not when a mad scientist makes dry ones at my expense."

Starsky laughed. "Better that than wet ones." He ate a couple of peanuts from the bowl on the table. "Ok, Hutch. I'll lay off the jokes about you, then…" He paused. "Except for when they're really funny."

Ken gave him a look. Starsky just smiled at him and ate another couple of peanuts.

"You're just too easy to get to, Hutch. You gotta lighten up a bit."

Ken frowned again. He supposed Starsky was right…but he didn't have to like it.

-%-

Starsky wasn't as talkative after he got his hamburger. In fact, he ate it in what Ken would consider record time. He was already polishing off his fries before he spoke again.

"Tell me something," he said, licking ketchup off his finger. "Where'd you find that tub, anyway?"

Ken gave him a look, but he answered anyway. "I found her at a used car lot, if you must know."

Starsky snorted. "Don't tell me: it was love at first sight."

"Hey, I _do_ love that car, alright? And I don't appreciate you calling her 'tub' and 'junk' all the time!"

Starsky put up his hands. "Right, right, sorry." He ate a couple more fries. "What I guess I'm really wondering is, why that particular car? Out of all the ones you could've picked, why _that_ one?"

Ken put down his glass of water, a hundred explanations running through his head. "She just happened to be the second cheapest. And I like the way she handles. And...I bought her with my own money, not my parents'."

Starsky looked at him expectantly as if he knew there was more.

"And...well, to be perfectly honest...she was the only one in that lot that I knew my father would absolutely hate."

Starsky nodded; slowly, like a wise man who had it all figured out.

"If you don't like your old man that much, why are you working for him?" Starsky asked, suddenly as serious as if he had Ken on the witness stand. Ken opened his mouth to say something, hesitated, and then realised he didn't really know.

"I...guess...I guess it was always...expected of me. I mean, he's going to be putting me through law school, so—"

"Do you want to go to law school and become a lawyer like your old man?" Starsky interrupted.

Ken opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

"Well...no, but—"

Starsky shook his head. "Then what are you wasting your time for?"

Ken shook his head. Why didn't this crazy guy understand? "Because I have to—I-I don't have a choice—"

Starsky put a hand on Ken's shoulder. "You always have a choice. You know what my father wanted me to be? A doctor. I get squeamish at the mention of blood, and he wanted me to operate on people with little knives, a needle and thread. I told him to stuff it, and I left."

Ken looked at Starsky with wide eyes. "What? You just...left? You just...got up and walked away from your family?"

Starsky nodded.

Ken shook his head. He couldn't imagine doing that...except...he wanted to. He wanted to walk into that law firm and put in his two weeks notice, if for nothing else, just to see the look on his father's face when he walked out those pristine, engraved glass double-doors.

"What do you want to be? If you could do anything, right this second, what would you want to do?" Starsky asked.

Ken blinked. This was overwhelming. He hadn't given this any thought at all.

"We—I...I don't know."

Starsky cocked his head. "Oh, come on, Hutch, think back...to when you were a little kid watching TV; riding your bike outside. Playing kick the can. What did you want to be? Even if you always kept it a secret?"

Ken closed his eyes and thought. He thought about it as hard as he could, and suddenly, he was 12 again, playing with his best friend's pop gun on the green front lawns of their estate. He smiled.

"I...wanted to be a cop," he said softly.

Starsky smiled. "There, you see? Now, why can't you quit your job at that sleazy law firm and march yourself up to the police academy and drop in an application, huh?"

Ken blinked. He stared off into space. Oh, how he wanted to do that. But he knew it wouldn't fly. He shook his head.

"I couldn't...I couldn't do that, I...it would break mother's heart...and dad put so much work into getting me where I am today..."

Starsky took his hand off Ken's shoulder and sighed, putting a napkin over his empty plate.

"Sounds like excuses to me, blondie."

Ken glared at Starsky and opened his mouth to say something, but Starsky said something first.

"Why don't we go back to the shop and talk payment, huh?"

Ken nodded, now feeling angry and unsure of himself. He hated the mechanic for shaking him up like he did! He didn't know what life was like as a Hutchinson! Much less about being the only son in a long line of Hutchinsons! A guy had a responsibility to his family! It wasn't just a matter of what was good for him! Every decision he made affected his family. He silently cursed at the mechanic as he followed him back to the shop. Good thing he'd never have to come back after today.

-%-

Three days later, and Ken was miserable. He frowned as he worked on the pile of paperwork on his desk, mirroring the frown on his father's face in the painting on the wall behind him. _Write the case number in line 7. Rewrite the client's name on lines 8, 12, and 20. Next case. Write the case number in line 7. Rewrite the client's name on lines 8, 12, and 20. Next case._ He felt a sharp pain in his finger as he pulled the next packet of paperwork off the stack, causing him to drop the packet. He looked down at his fresh, stinging paper cut before putting his finger in his mouth and closing his eyes, resting his head in his other hand.

He had been trying all day not to think about what that stupid mechanic had said about always having a choice. He had previously been able to keep his thoughts on the paperwork that he'd been doing, but the pain of the paper cut had derailed his train of thought and put him right back on the other track. The truth of the matter was, he didn't want to be there. He didn't want to be his father's little golden boy anymore. The truth of the matter was that his heart would pound every time he heard sirens outside the window. The truth was, he wanted to rush to the window like he was a little kid and watch the cop car go by. But he didn't. He had work to do, so he sat there like a robot, filling in lines 7, 8, 12, and 20.

He let his head softly fall to his desk. He thought about Starsky, sitting there smiling at him and asking him what he wanted to do. He was the first person who ever did that. He didn't come up to him, look him over, and compare him to his father or uncles or grandfathers like his parent's friends did. _He's got a regal jaw like Richard. He has Harold's stern eyes. He has strong hands like Leonard. He has John's commanding presence._ It was like he had been raised to live up to the standards all of these people, most of whom he'd never even met. But this Starsky guy, who barely knew him, had sat there and asked him what _he_ wanted and looked genuinely interested to know. He rubbed his eyes with his uninjured hand and reached into his desk drawer for a bandaid.

He looked up at the clock. It was only 2:18, but he suddenly didn't think he could stand to be there any longer. He sat there, looking at his coat, hesitating. He wanted to walk right out the door, but something was holding him back. His sense of responsibility, maybe...He saw Starsky in his mind's eye, pointing a finger at him.

_"What? Your sense of responsibility? What about your responsibility to yourself, huh? What about your responsibility to keep yourself happy and sane?"_

Ken shook his head. No, he couldn't leave now!

_"Do you want to stay here for the rest of your life and become a carbon copy of your father and his father and all the rest of those old guys in suits on your parent's walls? Do you want to be a painting of a guy with a frown on his face?"_

Ken squeezed his eyes shut. "No!" He said aloud.

"'No', what? A-are you ok, Ken?"

He looked up to see his father's secretary standing in his doorway. He took a deep breath to try and bring himself back to reality.

"I'm...sorry, Sheri. I'm just not feeling like myself today."

She nodded, looking concerned. "Okay, I just wanted to let you know, your father wants to see you in his office."

Ken furrowed his brows. "Oh? Huh. Why didn't he call me on my office phone?"

Sheri shrugged. "I dunno. He just told me to come tell you."

Ken looked perplexed. "Ok...thank you, Sheri."

She nodded and walked out of his office. Ken stood up and walked towards his door, fighting the urge to grab his coat and duck out the front doors as he passed them.

-%-

Ken took a deep breath before reaching up to open the heavy oak doors that led to his father's office. The first thing he saw when he opened the door were the three paintings of his grandfather and his two brothers frowning down at him. He'd never really noticed before how strikingly...ugly the paintings really were.

"Kenneth, have a seat," his father said, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

Ken warily sat down. He already didn't like where this was headed.

"Give me your car keys, Kenneth."

Ken narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

His father gave him a pained look. "Why? Because I had that _atrocity_ of yours towed from the parking lot."

Ken stood up, fury boiling up inside him.

"WHAT?!"

"Kenneth, I told you last Saturday at breakfast that if you didn't get it painted, I would take matters into my own hands; so now I have. I think that I have been very patient with you, Kenneth."

Ken clenched his jaw. He hadn't been paying attention to that threat. He pointed a finger at his father.

"Father, that car is _not_ yours to do with as you please. It belongs to me. You tell me where you had it towed to and I'll be leaving to go pick it up. Or, if you prefer, I can call the police and report you for theft!"

"Kenneth, don't you dare take that tone with me—"

"Or _what_, dad? You won't put me through law school? You'll fire me from the firm? We both know you won't do that because you want me to be just like them!" He pointed up at the ugly paintings on the wall. "You want me to be just like you. Well, here's a news flash, dad, I am not you and I never will be! I never wanted to go to law school, I never wanted to work here, and I sure as hell never wanted to be an ugly frowning painting hanging over my son's desk!"

His father was silent now, staring at him incredulously. Ken shook his head and took a few steps back; he knew he had to leave now. He couldn't stay there, not after everything he'd just said. He looked straight into his father's eyes and stepped back again.

"I'm sorry, dad, but...I can't handle this anymore. I quit."

And with that, he turned on his heel and walked out of his father's office, ignoring his father's voice sternly calling his name; telling him to come to his senses. He walked back into his ex-office and grabbed his coat and a guitar-shaped paperweight—the only two things in that office that truly belonged to him—and walked right out of those engraved glass double-doors that he hoped he'd never ever see again.

-%-

He turned left and started walking down the sidewalk. He didn't know where he was going and he honestly didn't care. He considered going to the police department and reporting his vehicle stolen, but he wanted to try to calm down first. He trudged on for what seemed like hours, until the sun was starting to sink into the west, until his fancy shoes started to hurt him.

As he turned the corner, he suddenly recognised where he was. He was on 28th street, a few blocks away from Huggy's. He knew he shouldn't drink when he was upset, but a beer sounded great.

His feet were throbbing as he walked down into the loud bar. He slumped into one of the booths in the corner by the dart board and took off his shoes, rubbing his aching soles. Huggy noticed him right away and brought over his usual beer, sitting down across from him at the table.

"Hey there, Hutch, you're lookin' a little under the weather. You ok?"

Ken smiled when he heard Huggy's voice call him Hutch. He wasn't Kenneth anymore, he was Hutch, and for some reason, that was immensely satisfying. So satisfying, in fact, that he forgot he was supposed to be angry.

"Couldn't be better, Hug, thanks," he said, appreciatively taking a drink of of his beer. He looked at Huggy and smiled. "You know what I just did? I quit my job. I'm done with that place and everyone in it."

Huggy raised his brows. "Really? And that's good news?"

Hutch sighed and leaned back in his seat. "Ahh, yes. No more law firm paperwork. No more stress. No more—Well, the bad news is...I need to report my car stolen."

Huggy looked surprised. "Where'd you walk here from?"

Hutch shrugged. "I walked out of the law firm, turned left, walked for a few hours, and...here I am."

Huggy shook his head at the blonde and patted his shoulder. "At least you got dedication."

Hutch laughed. Dedication. He'd been dedicated to a dream that wasn't even his for all his life. It was high time for a change. Huggy asked him if he wanted something to eat, and Hutch ordered a hamburger with onion rings. He watched Huggy leave to go put in his order and loosened his tie. The reality of his situation had really started to sink in, and he felt liberated. He no longer felt responsible for his entire family. He didn't have to watch everything he did or said to make sure it didn't hurt his parent's reputation. He was still angry about his car, but for once in his life, his breathing didn't seem stifled by that godforsaken family image he'd been raised to uphold. He finally had a choice.

He suddenly wanted to walk down to Starsky's. He didn't know or care why, but he wanted to share the good news with that rude, fuzzy-haired mechanic. He wanted to tell the whole world that the next day, he would be going down to the police academy and filling out an application, just like he'd wanted to do all his life. He couldn't stop smiling as he ate his hamburger and finished his beer. He was ordering a piece of pie to celebrate when a thought crossed his mind.

"Uh...could you make that two and wrap them to go?" He asked.

The waitress nodded and smiled at him. "Got someone to go see?"

Hutch nodded and smiled back. "Yeah, I do."

-%-

Hutch found himself walking south on 28th, musing about the first time he'd done that. His walk had been different then...fast and purposeful, the way he'd always been taught to walk. Now, his walk was slow and leisurely. He didn't have to be anywhere. The only place he had to be was where he wanted to be. He smiled; smiled like he couldn't control his face. He wanted to dance, and he might have, if his shoes weren't still hurting him. He finally got to the top of the hill, and the parking lot with all the shiny cars came into view. The red toma—_Torino_—was still there...and it made Hutch smile. Funny how he was even glad to see that ugly paint job.

He walked into the front office of the shop, his heart racing when he saw the rat's nest of curly dark hair bent over a diagnostic diagram. Starsky sniffed the air and looked up to see Hutch smiling at him with two cardboard boxes in his hands. He smiled at the blonde.

"Car trouble?" He asked.

Hutch shrugged. "Nah. Just...wanted to see ya, I guess."

Starsky looked down at the boxes. "One of those for me?"

Hutch smiled wider and handed him a box.

Starsky opened the box and smelled the pie for a minute, then he looked at Hutch.

"You are having car trouble, though, aren't you?"

Hutch furrowed his brows.

"You know where your car is?" Starsky asked, closing the box and setting it down on the desk.

"No." Hutch looked angry and shook his head. "My...father had it towed."

Starsky smirked. "Is that so?"

Hutch narrowed his eyes at Starsky. "Yes..."

"Car doesn't belong to him, and it was parked legally, right?"

Hutch nodded.

Starsky clicked his tongue. "That's against the law, you know." He gestured at Hutch to follow him.

Hutch raised a brow and walked after the mechanic. As they walked into the garage, Hutch saw his beautiful brown beast raised up on a platform.

"Found her at a junkyard over on 212th, if you must know," Starsky said. "The guy almost didn't want to give her to me, but I convinced him that I knew who it belonged to."

He looked at Hutch, who looked like he was about to cry.

"What are you so upset about, blondie? I put in new brakes and changed out the shocks and the control ar—"

Hutch interrupted him by throwing his arms around him and hugging him tightly. The mechanic looked surprised for a second, then smiled and patted Hutch on the back. When Hutch didn't let go, he put his arms around him and just held him for a second.

"Thank you, Starsky," Hutch said, his voice muffled against Starsky's shirt.

Starsky chuckled. "Don't mention it, Hutch."

Hutch took a breath and let go of Starsky. He was blushing and couldn't look him in the face, but he still had a few things he wanted to say, so he just looked at Starsky's shoes.

"Uh...I wanted to let you know..." Hutch absent-mindedly kicked at a piece of something on the floor. "I quit my job."

Starsky smiled. "That's terrific!"

Hutch nodded, still not able to look Starsky in the face.

"And...I'm gonna apply to the police academy tomorrow."

Starsky was beaming. "I'm so proud of you."

Hutch finally got the courage to look up at Starsky's face, still worrying that Starsky would see how red he was.

"Hey...um...how much is the...car gonna cost me?"

Starsky's smile was warm and soft. For once, this look didn't make Hutch uncomfortable...sure, it still gave him butterflies, but...this time, it was different.

"How about a kiss?" Starsky said softly.

Hutch looked confused. "But...all that work you put in...the materials you used...don't you need...money f—"

Starsky moved closer and cut him off, placing a gentle kiss on Hutch's lips. Hutch tensed up at first, but after a breathless moment, he closed his eyes...and kissed Starsky back.

After a few more kisses, Starsky pulled back a little so he could brush Hutch's hair out of his face.

"Oh, and another thing, blondie...you gotta keep bringing me pie."

Hutch smiled. "Well...Ok," he said. "But that's gonna cost you another kiss."


End file.
